Finding the Balance

There are many African authors, like Ngugi and Achebe, who held the belief that it was not possible to accurately describe the feelings, history, and experiences of a people, who had been colonized, by using the colonizer’s language. According to these two authors colonization was evil and could not co-exist with tradition, which they viewed as good. In some ways, those who hold this opinion are right and in other ways they are not. The problem is that there is no way to completely and entirely translate one language into another. For example, I lived in Taiwan for two years, the official language is Mandarin. I had to quickly learn the language, as I didn’t speak a word of it prior to moving there. I did not have the luxury of living in a big and populous city, where many people spoke English. After some time of being immersed into the culture and spending most of my time with people speaking Chinese around me, there are phrases that I heard a lot. I learned how to use them, but there is no English equivalent to them. If I were to put the characters in this blog, you could copy and paste them into a translator and it would translate it into English. The English given is such a bad translation, but even I, who knows what it means, couldn’t give you an English equivalent. I could only teach you how to use the phrase. It is essentially a phrase that perfectly describes a variety of emotions in a huge range of situations.

This is one of the problems that Ngugi and Achebe have with using the colonial language. Every language is so rich in their own way and it is not possible adequately translate and express every word or phrase. A graphic novel can solve this problem. One can write in any language they choose, but they always draw in their own language.

Johann Sfar addresses the problems of language and colonization in his graphic novel, The Rabbi’s Cat. The images are very detailed and contain so much information. I found myself reading and examining each image several times. Different shades of brown, red, and yellow are used to show tradition. This demonstrates the comfort associated with the goodness in tradition. The city of Paris, representing modernity, is drawn as gray, very dark, and rainy. It is dreary and ruins everything.


The main characters in this book are the rabbi, his daughter, and the cat. The cat can be seen as a little arrogant and opinionated; however, this cat has one thing the other characters don’t have, a confidence in knowing who he is. I loved the cat and found him to be quite hilarious! He questions everything. Ah! Something that people who numbly follow traditional religion hate, because they no answers outside of “That’s just the way we do it.” Growing up in a very conservative Baptist home, there were many things that I questioned. At first the questions just rumbled around in my head, once I was older I started to ask why. In many ways I was discouraged from asking why, but my mom encouraged me to find what it is that I believe and not just what she believes or what my church believed. In my personal opinion, traditions within religion often make it stale and stagnate. When the question “Why?” is answered with, “Because that’s how we’ve always done it” brings about a lack of realness and conviction within religion and often even a hatred of it. The rabbi and his daughter suffer from identity crisis after identity crisis.

Sfar also demonstrates the ability for people to live together, get along, even be friends and still believe differently from each other. There is a scene between a Jewish rabbi and an Arab imam. Together they laugh and joke and sing and enjoy each other’s company. The Jewish cat and Christian dog, in Paris, run through the city and have a great time. They even learn from each other. The graphic novel was originally written in French, but drawn in Algerian. Each of these are quite different from the other; however, they all agree to disagree on certain things. They respect each other’s beliefs and ways, without requiring the other to conform to their ways. There is one scene in which Sfar uses the rabbi’s cat and the imam’s donkey to show the reality of what people are like. First they argue about a name not being able to be both Arab and Jewish, then they argue about whose ancestor’s grave they are going to visit.




Sfar does not seem to support complete colonization, but he does point out that it is possible for one to have a balance of both tradition and colonization. 

My Conundrum...

I am in a conundrum. I don’t know if I can say that colonization is inherently bad, but I can’t say that it is good either. Prior to reading the book, Nervous Condition, I would have whole-heartedly agreed with the other authors we’ve read, in saying that colonization is bad. Now, I would agree that the way in which Africa was colonized is entirely wrong. The idea that through colonization one group dehumanizes another group is wrong. Differences do not equal inferiority. Dangarembga points out some of the good sides to colonialism, which is where my conundrum starts.

In her book, Nervous Conditions, Tsitsi Dangarembga criticizes the ideas of colonization and how it affects people; however, she does not go as far in criticizing it as some of the authors we have read thus far. She addresses several different issues associated with colonization and with the Shona culture and tradition. She points out that not all the problems in Africa are solely to be blamed on colonization, but also on traditional culture, which had its own flaws. As a writer Dangarembga is speaking for those who cannot speak. She deals with both the good and bad sides to colonization and tradition.

On the side of colonization being good, it brought a whole set of opportunities for women. Education for one thing was more than just a thing to be dreamt about, it was actually a possibility. Colonization gave women rights. This was hard for everyone to accept, even some women. Their culture and traditions were so ingrained in them that simply the idea of a woman going to school was preposterous! Men were the ones who needed an education, after all they were the ones who did business and provided for the family. Women stayed home and took care of the house and raised the children. They were to obey their husbands and men in general without question. This can be seen in the parents of both Tambu and Nyasha. Both of their mothers obeyed and went along with the rules of the game. Maiguru objected, but not enough to matter or make a difference. Ma’Shingayi followed tradition and played the role of the woman. Lucia is the character who interests me the most. She was bold and had her own opinion, which she was not afraid to state, but she knew when to “back down” and play the game to get what she wanted. Women had become second-class citizens, who were subject to the decisions of men with no thought to their feelings or opinions.

Education is a huge part of this book and a subject I am very passionate about. I love school, all aspects of it: studying, homework, research, class, etc... I love studying and learning. I’ve grown up in a single parent family with very little extra money; perhaps this has given me a great appreciation for money and a keen awareness of how I use it. We have been blessed in America with an ability to go to college if we so please and to choose whatever we want to major in. Unfortunately too many people take this privilege for granted and party their college years away or just don’t care and drop out. The great thing is they have the freedom to do so. After doing research on the topic of education in Africa, I was greatly saddened. Public education is free in the U.S.; however, fees for extracurricular activities are being charged. In most cases these fees are affordable. In Africa, however, the schools fees are often way above and beyond a family’s income. They do not have the opportunity to receive financial help or go to a bank and take out student loans, and this should not be needed just to send one’s child to elementary school. Even though I did not know the extent of how bad education is in Africa, I did know that it was pretty unique to the U.S. for education to be available to everyone.

One thing I did not know, until a few years ago has to do with college. Five years ago I went to Taiwan and stayed for two years. Being in the elementary schools, Monday through Friday and being the foreigner, everyone wanted to practice their English with me. I learned a lot. One thing I found odd is how kindergarten can affect what college a person goes to. I had students, who would come to school with bruises. Most of the students felt comfortable enough with me to tell me what happened; they had been beaten by their parents. Why? They did poorly on a test. What did poorly mean? A ‘B’ is what poorly meant. Sometimes it was just an A minus. I thought this was a bit extreme; I was for one thing upset and two completely confused! A ‘B’ is not a bad grade! Then one of my friends explained to me, that one B could keep that child from college. You see after elementary school there is a test. This test determines what Jr. High the child will attend. After that another test is given to determine what Sr. High they will go to. And after Sr. High there are other tests. These determine what colleges the student is qualified to attend and what area they will major in. There is no choice, the path is laid out for them and every little grade counts. Then I started researching... And I discovered this really was not that uncommon, actually it was quite normal. This explains why so many people choose to come to the U.S. for college. They have the opportunity to choose something they enjoy, instead of having the choice made for them.

There are many problems within our education system, but we are so very privileged! These privileges would not be possible if it was not for colonization of some sort. Education according to tradition is for those who have money and can afford it. It is something that should be seen as an honor and privilege. As a result of colonization, we have been able to offer education to everyone, not just the elite in society. So, this is my conundrum... And conclude that colonization is quite complex and it is not so easy to just say “Colonization is evil and should not happen!”

Finding the Courage to be who I am

Ngugi has a problem with the treatment of the national languages of Africa. After reading The Language of African Literature I do not know how anyone cannot, at the very least, have an understanding for his frustration. African languages were not permitted in the classroom. Children were taught in English and in a very sly way, taught that their own languages were not good enough. My favorite sentence from the excerpt is so painfully descriptive. “The physical violence of the battlefield was followed by the psychological violence of the classroom.” In denial, people try to justify and trivialize what was being done. I cannot imagine having my native language treated in such a way. What would it be like to be forced to learn about my own culture and history in Japanese? And why on earth would I want to learn my history in another language? What if myself and my fellow Americans were viewed by the world as ignorant, because “oh, theeey speak English! Their literature is not worth reading or even considering, because it is written in English.”? I would be just as outraged as Ngugi is over what is being done to his fellow Africans.

There is so much culture wrapped up in the language any country speaks. I lived in Taiwan for two years, where the national language is Mandarin, which I did not speak or understand. I did not live in a big or largely populated city that spoke English. I quickly learned what I needed to survive and then started learning conversational Chinese. After being there for some time there were words that I used and had no idea how to translate for people. One of my favorite phrases is “ai you.” I can't explain what it means. It doesn't translate into English.  I know in what context to use this phrase, but for its meaning... That is something I learned from being immersed in their culture and spending every spare moment with my Taiwanese friends listening to them speak and attempting to have conversation myself.  What little of the English language that can be used to describe the phrase, is very insufficient and does not capture the cultural context. This makes me wonder... How much cultural context of African history has been lost through English only rules???

In the next two stories, “Wedding at the Cross” and “Minutes of Glory,” there are two characters who develop this obsession with proving themselves to people, who don’t matter. In the first story Wariuki was embarrassed by the love of his life’s father. The rest of his life was spent trying to prove to the father, that he was an equal. He had received what he wanted, Miriamu. They eloped and had a family. Instead of taking pride in what he had, he spent his time wishing for what he didn’t have. In the end, this cost him everything. In the end, he had her father’s approval, but what did that matter when he lost his love? In “Minutes of Glory,” Beatrice is bitter and hard and angry. She despises herself.

Reading both these stories I can relate to both characters. I grew up with a very angry and abusive father. He despised life and everyone in it. He was full of this disgusting hate for the unfairness of his life. He became the exact thing he hated so much. When I was young he left and barely looked back. We saw him for birthdays, Christmas, and maybe once or twice throughout the year. Then, to add insult to injury, he started forgetting my name. Yes, his only daughter he couldn’t remember what her name was. I hated him so much. What I didn’t realize is that I was finding my identity in him. I defined my worth by him and how I thought he thought about me. What was the result? The same self-hatred Beatrice had. Like her I truly thought I was ugly. It had nothing to do with hair color, or the fact that it was not straight, or my size, or anything outward. I can distinctly remember the first time I looked in the mirror and thought, “hm... I guess I’m not really that ugly after all.” Nothing outwardly had changed. I looked exactly the same; however, I was no longer identifying my worth on what my dad did or even what anyone else did for that matter. Who I was, was in my control. My dad, he is like Wariuki and lost everything because of his stupid obsession with proving that he was better than his dad. (As awful and sad certain parts of my life are, I would not change a thing. I am who I am, because of those things. They do not control me, nor do I find my identity in them. But they have helped to shape and change the person I am today.)

Ngugi wants his fellow Africans to see how valuable they are, not based on what someone else tells them. Their culture and history is very important and it does matter. Preserving their languages and the rich history contained in it was crucial. He also, seems to be warning people of what can happen when they spend their lives consumed by other people’s opinions of them. It is dangerous and can destroy a person, just like it did to Beatrice and Wariuki.

Finding Truth

Nadine Gordimer is outraged at the atrocities that have taken place in Africa in the name of colonization. The short stories we’ve read focus specifically on the Apartheid, which were the heinous acts of segregation that took place in South Africa. Legislation was passed that laid out a system for racial segregation that was legal. People were separated based on one of four classifications: white, colored, black, or Indian. The category you fell under, determined everything about your life; where you lived, traveled, what kind of job you could hold, etc... Each person was required to have papers that stated who they were and where they were allowed to be. Breaking the rules was not an option. This system favored those who were white and greatly discriminated against those who were not. Gordimer, a white woman, was outraged by this, as everyone should be!

It makes me very sad that at almost 26 years of age, I am just learning about the atrocities that have taken place in Africa in the name of colonization. Many people would say that being industrialized is a sign of a great nation. This leads me to the question; what is a nation? Without people there is no such thing as a nation. Material possessions, giant cities with hundreds of skyscrapers, technological and scientific advances do not make a nation, it is the people who make the nation. People are not perfect and make mistakes. Through ignorance people can do some very atrocious things and truly believe that they are right. The beauty of being human is that we can learn from mistakes, whether ours or others, and become better people because of them.

When colonization becomes the focus of people they become obsessed with money and power, humans are completely lost in the background. In the stories, “Good Climate, Friendly Inhabitants,” “Amnesty,” and “Six Feet of the Country” Gordimer demonstrates the ridiculousness of the Apartheid and how out of control the system was. She also, shows the different types of people who lived during the Apartheid. First we have the two white Africans and the black African from “Good Climate, Friendly Inhabitants.” The two white Africans took advantage of people and tried to make their lives and Apartheid make sense. The black African treated people like fellow humans, even if they didn’t deserve to be treated so nicely. He remained true to who he was and did not try to become something else. In “Amnesty,” you have the hero focused on ending the injustice and make life better for all people. Then there are the women, who sit at home, patiently waiting for their men to come home. They are the unsung heroes of the Apartheid, no matter how hard it was, they continued on with life and remained the strength behind the men fighting. The last story, “Six Feet of the Country,” there is the racist white “farmer,” who was there to make money and use the Africans, the wife, who was a white person tried to treat people equally, and the Africans, who were stuck in this seemingly endless cycle of abuse. Sadly, these are all types of people that we still see in our world today.

A few days ago I was talking to an acquaintance of mine, he had asked about my classes and I started telling him about this one. Over the years, I have friends who have become very active in bringing awareness to issues in Africa. As a result, I am familiar with some of the difficulties of life there, but I don’t know enough of the history to really talk about it. So, I was pretty excited to actually know what I was talking about. However, my mood, quickly changed from excitement to complete and utter disgust! He is one of those people who thinks he knows everything and before I could finish describing the class, he cut me off and started talking. I wouldn't have really minded if what came out of his mouth was not complete arrogance and stupidity. He went on some rant about how the problems in Africa are their own fault and how that they enslaved themselves and brought everything on themselves. Yes, I am well aware that some Africans sold each other during the slave trade to the New World. However, that does not in any way at all, ever (!) justify what was done to the Africans! And the logic of his argument confused me greatly.  Essentially he was saying, "Oh! Well, these people are going to treat each other badly, so we might as well do it, too!" What?! This made me very angry for a little while, but then I felt sorry for him. He is a very educated person and is quite smart; however, he was still so ignorant. He has only learned what has been taught to him. I do know that he does a lot of study on his own, but it has all been spurred by what he already knew. He simply studied more of the opinions of others, rather than learning/finding the facts for himself.

In my sociology class we have been talking about how our experiences in life or lack of affect our view of the world. Ah... so true. If I never venture outside of my own comfort zone, then I will have a very limited and ignorant view of the world. When I lived in Taiwan there was an African-American girl on my team. The Taiwanese kids and sometimes adults were terrified of her. It took some time, but we convinced them that she was a really nice person. Slowly they broke past their fear of her and started talking to her. They quickly discovered that what they thought of her was very wrong and that she was indeed a normal person, like the rest of us, just with dark skin. Their lives were changed in a very unique way. They began to then question stereotypes they had of different races, wondering if those people were really like that, or if they were also, just normal people. They began to educate themselves and opened up their world view, rejecting the ignorance of what they had been taught and finding truth.

Colonization... a dehumanizing idea.

Chinua Achebe's writings were a little different than those of Felix Mnthali. Achebe was more concerned with all of Africa at large, the problem of colonization, and what it was doing to, not only the African people, but also the rest of the world. Achebe is angered by the ideas/mentality of colonialism, which says that “Our way of doing things is best and right. Your way is either very inferior or completely wrong, so we are going to help you fix your problems with our ways.”

In the short stories “An Image of Africa,” “Girls at War,” and “The Madman.” Achebe paints a picture, so-to-say, of what colonialism is and what it does to everyone involved. The first story is written in a very different style than the other two. Colonization, although decades ago, has successfully tainted the view most the world has on Africans. Very little truth is known about them and we imagine wild savages running around half-naked with spears, speaking in some unintelligible language. Their rich culture and traditions are seen as backwards and stupid. The word ‘tribe’ is seen as something of the olden days. At the beginning of “An Image of Africa,” Achebe talks about three situations with an older gentleman, high-school students, and their teacher that displayed their ignorance and a book that he calls a “bloody racist.” The style chosen to write “An Image for Africa” was, sadly, very necessary to prove that Africans are not simply backward, savages, who are illiterate and know nothing of history or literature.

Two problems Achebe addresses that come out of colonialism are ignorance and racism. Achebe was angry about the problems that colonialism was having on the world and the great ignorance; however, he was also concerned about how it was affecting the Africans themselves. In the story “Girls at War,” Achebe sets the scene for a corrupt and totally self-absorbed government official. Nwankwo refused to help anyone, unless it would benefit him in some way. He went to find food and stocked up, while there were people starving and begging for food. He stopped to pick up a young girl and ignored an old woman. He gave the girl a ride, simply because he found her attractive and for his own pleasure. He was not really concerned with helping her. Achebe was mocking colonialism saying that the Europeans were only out for their best interest, while trying to mask it saying they were helping the Africans. The Europeans, through colonialism were using the Africans to get what they wanted and then they left them in a terrible state.

In “The Madman,” we have a perfectly sane man, who is proclaimed to be insane. He is continually told that he is crazy and eventually begins to believe it himself. Africans had been told that they didn't have a history. They hadn't written their stories down for all to read, and telling the stories wasn't good enough. The stories were considered as accurate as a fiction novel is. The idea that if a person is told that they are something long enough; they will eventually start to believe it themselves and come to identify with it. This is very common in victims of abuse; they cannot break out or away from their abuser and often continue the cycle, because they have come to identify with their abuser’s definition of them. The same thing was happening to Achebe’s people. He could see it and it angered him. They were being told that they were nobodies without a history. The Europeans were educating those they saw fit, the white and only the wealthy could afford the education their children needed. The people began to see themselves as the Europeans had portrayed them and were submitting to their control.

Something that we have talked about several times in class and I find very interesting... In the stories we’ve read this quarter and in the past two quarters there are characters that have no name. We’ve talked about what that means both in a good way and in a bad way. One thing we talked about is how that once a person receives a name they become an individual, not just someone in the crowd. Africans were not differentiated by tribes, or specific people groups, nor were they called by a real name, they were ‘the natives.’ In my opinion this is one of the most vague and non-descriptive way to refer to a people group. The grouping of colored, blacks, white, or Indian at least gave them some type of identifying term, but ‘native.’ The word sounds so... so savage, wild, and almost vicious.

The gripping power of language...

I enjoy poetry, but I'm often lost in it. I usually prefer to read short stories or essays, perhaps because the metaphorical ideas are easier for me to understand.

In any case, this poem was a little different. Simply the title alone, "The Stranglehold of English Lit.," expresses the great irritation and disgust the author, Mnthali, felt. The language is short at times and very blunt.

One can feel Mnthali’s outrage over the education in his country. How can his people learn their own history if it is being taught or told from someone who is not one of them? Or from someone who is a native, but has been taught by the English? And how can their history be accurately told, written, and shared if it is diluted from an English standpoint? I can understand some of his frustration. The history in our country is constantly being edited, people deciding what we should and shouldn’t remember. Why? What is so wrong with things from our past? At one point I know that one issue debated, was whether or not to exclude religious views of many of our founding fathers. Our country was founded on the idea of religious freedom. Today the idea of tolerance is huge, you can see it all over the place: bumper stickers, billboards, notebooks, pencils, etc. If tolerance and acceptance, with regard to religion, is so highly valued, why would we want to hide the vast diversity of our country’s religious history, where we came from and where we are today?! To me it seems very contradictory.

I cannot begin to express how much I love the passionate display of emotion that is expressed in this poem! (small continuation of/addition to my stereotyping rant... ;) ) Most people would assume that as a girl, I express my emotions. However, this is not so much the case. I prefer to keep my emotions to myself and rarely let on to what they are, verbally that is. Writing, now that is a very different story. Writing is meant to be a way to express one’s ideas/opinions/feelings about any given subject. It is, in my opinion, the best way of really expressing how one feels. Mnthali is very effective at not only expressing how he feels, but making the reader feel his outrage.

"Your elegance of deceit,
Jane Austen,
lulled the sons and daughters
of the dispossessed
into a calf-love
with irony and satire
around imaginary people."

More than Simply Existing

On a somewhat more literal level, one of my favorite things about this book is how Laura Esquivel portrayed the idea of food being a window to the soul and one's emotions flowing out through their cooking. Food is a passion of mine. I love to discover new recipes, even though I never actually follow the recipe and eventually just ditch them and make my own thing. It's a crazy and wild adventure cooking on a whim. When I am in a bad mood and cook, it never tastes as good as when I enjoy the whole process. It could just be all in my head, but I still think that food is an expression of the soul.

I found the "romance" in this novel to be a bit refreshing. Sounds weird, I know. I'm not much of a chick-flick kind of girl. They all have the exact same plot or theme. Two people meet and they either like each other or hate each other. Then from there they have some kind of fight or there is some situation that prevents them from being together. However, they all end the same, with the couple falling in love and living happily ever after. *gag* So, I'm not much of a romantic, never have been. I'm not a touchy feely, huggy, sappy, mushy person (the irony is that both my brothers are, one is very huggy and the other is complete mush.). It seems that society had done an excellent job in creating and building up this completely fictional character called Prince Charming. The perfect guy will come swooping in and sweep you off our feet. Really? Come on. It's not going to happen. There is no perfect guy. You can dream up and create this "prince charming" in your head, but he will never actually exist. It will just be a letdown. Now, I'm not trying to be completely cynical. I do think that there is a person who completes you, someone who is perfect for you, who is a good balance for you and you for them. However, I do not believe in nor do I like the idea of "prince charming." In Like Water for Chocolate, the prince charming character, or who most Americans would think of as the “prince charming” character loses.

Tita’s character is one I think many people can relate to. She was passionate about life and had her own ideas of what was right and knew what she wanted. However, she never acted on those things, until the very end of the story. She conformed to the pressure of the society she lived in and to the wishes of her mother. Tita simply squashed her own desires down deep inside of herself, pretending they weren’t real. Tita could not live out her dreams, because of fear. Fear of her mother and fear of what people would say and possibly fear of the unknown.

The paralyzing affect of fear keeps most people from taking the time to dig deep inside and discover what their dreams and passions are. Out of those few, even fewer act upon them. It is easier to conform to what everyone else says or thinks, or even to what is seen as socially acceptable. This is also, an easier life to live, but only if you can effectively squelch your dreams and passion. However, according to Laura Esquivel, no matter how much you try to ignore your dream or passion, it will eat away at you, making you utterly miserable and sick.

This is not living, but simply existing.

Everyday Heroes

Growing up with brothers and no sisters meant that when it came to movies, we usually watched what they preferred. They were all about cowboys and Indians, superheroes and bad guys. I was very familiar with the character of Zorro, but not this Zorro, the Americanized Zorro. He fought the bad guys, saved the people in distress, impressed and got the girl. Allende’s Zorro is a bit different from this Zorro. He still fights for justice, but his reasons/goals are not the same as the Americanized Zorro. In this graphic novel Zorro is given a past, a reason for being who he is. Knowing who and where Zorro came from makes his character easier to relate to, than simply a hero who comes out of nowhere.

Picking up a long book and seeing the pages upon pages of just words, is not daunting to me. I enjoy the challenge. Not only do I enjoy simply the entertainment of reading, but I also, enjoy seeing how different authors play with words and writing styles. I enjoy the challenge of creating and picturing the events in a story as I read it. I’ve never considered a graphic novel to be my “type” of reading. However, after reading this one, I would have to say that a graphic novel requires just as much out of the reader as pages upon pages of only words. There are not as many words, not even close, but that requires the reader to pay more attention to the details in the images and clues given in the few words.

“A picture is worth a thousand words.” Pictures are used all the time to get a point across. They evoke a response out of the observer. Francavilla is great at this. He plays with lighting, shading, distance, different image sizes, and location on the page to get the appropriate response from the reader. Picking one page of images to focus on was hard. I think my favorite images are the ones of Diego De La Vega as Zorro. Not to be too vague. In each section, there are so many details. Zorro himself, however, is a bit vague, almost giving the impression that anyone can be Zorro. I know people who criticize the idea of a superhero, saying that it’s just too unrealistic. I would disagree. Everyone can be a hero to someone, even if we don’t know it. To be a hero one does not have to be this idealized person the whole world knows. Princeton University defines it as a “champion: someone who fights for a cause.” Hey, anyone can do that. It doesn’t have to be grand or glorious; it can be small and seemingly insignificant.

My mother has lived through hell on earth. The older I get, the more I learn of what she has been through and the more she amazes me. She is my hero, always has been and for many, many years did not know this. I have never met anyone quite like her and to be honest she baffles me at times. Throughout my life she has taught me how important it is to forgive and love. She has taught me that it doesn’t matter what people do to you or say about you. This was done through her words, but mostly I learned this through her actions. She was a champion, a champion for her kids. She fought for us to have as normal a life as she could give us. She fought to give us everything she could. She fought to teach us to be good, kind, loving, and forgiving people. She is the “Zorro” in my life. She never gave up or quit, no matter how bad it got.

Destroying Ignorance

(Forewarning... This is not exactly a light and cheerful read. I debated on changing and doing something else for a while, but decided to go ahead with it.)

A young woman walks down the street. She is wearing a short, tight red dress. The dress, though simple, does not conceal much. The wind blows and one can see her shiver so slightly. It is entirely too chilly out for such apparel. On her feet are shoes that are flashy with high stiletto heels and straps that crisscross halfway up her calves. On her face is a moderate amount of make-up. She appears to be in her early 20’s. Her hair is beautifully curled. She is thin, but not too thin. One glance and you would think that she could be a model, but the circumstances lead one to assume the worst about her.

A car drives past; the passengers look out at her. They stare, giving disapproving looks. Immediately a word comes to the mind of each person, without saying they all know what the other is thinking. The car continues on by. “Shameful! It’s just shameful, that woman standing there on the street selling her body.” “How could someone do that to themselves?” “She must have no respect for herself.” Just a few of the many comments made. The passengers make jokes and continue to talk about how sad it is, but within a short time the prostitute is forgotten and the passengers go about their lives.

However, stop and take a closer look and you will see something entirely different, the truth that the passengers of the car couldn’t see because of their ignorance. This ignorance is not because they knew the truth and intentionally ignored it, but because they did not know there was a truth to be found. Carefully and cautiously look around and you will find another person, a man or woman. Watch them for a time and you will see that they are watching, watching every move the girl makes. They remain a safe distance away, so as to not be associated with the girl; however, they never leave or stay too far away.

Now stop and look into the face, the eyes, of the young girl and you will see exhaustion, fear, and nothingness. She has been robbed of life. Wash the girl’s hair and let it be natural, take off the make-up, give her a t-shirt and sweats, and you will find under all that there is a terrified little girl of just 14. This young child is not a prostitute. Nor is she on the street of her own choosing; she has been sold as a slave. The careful overseer is her owner, never letting her out of his/her site. She knows the overseer is nearby and the sheer terror of their presence keeps her moving, keeps her from running away; she is held within his grasp, his control. The ignorance of the passengers in the car, prevents them from seeing and understanding the harsh reality of the fate of the young girl standing on the corner.

In the stories we have read by Borges, there is a great deal of ignorance displayed, which always seems to win. The main character, in “The Garden of Forking Paths,” Yu was sent on a mission by the Germans. However, his reasons for going on this mission and his determination in completing it had nothing to do with a loyalty to the Germans. Yu was trying to prove that he was just as good as any German. In trying to prove his worth, he destroyed the life of an innocent man, Stephen Albert. Not just any innocent man, but the man who had brilliantly worked to uncover the mysterious writings of Yu’s ancestor and spent time telling Yu about his discoveries.

In the story “The Gospel According to Mark,” Borges writes about this never ending battle between right and wrong. Baltasar Espinosa is portrayed as goodness. He is a nice guy and was kind to the Gutre family, who represented wrong. The Gutre family mocked him and eventually sacrificed Espinosa in an attempt to make the water recede. In their ignorance, the Gutre family misinterpreted the story of the crucifixion. According to the old practices of their family’s heritage, they needed to make a sacrifice to make the waters go down. I found this to be very interesting on my second time through the story, because it says that the Gutre family was not religious at all. So, why would they be so concerned with the old religious practices of their family? In the Bible, the story of the crucifixion was to show the depth of love that God had for people; it was the ultimate sacrifice, dying for another. The Gutre family, in their ignorance trivialized this event and assumed that they would be forgiven if they crucified Espinosa. They missed the point of the sacrifice.

“Emma Zunz” was a slightly different story. Emma was an innocent, quiet, and sweet girl. Her life seems to have been overcome with shame. First her father had been falsely accused and imprisoned. Then he committed suicide. She seeks justice against the man who was at fault. In doing so she endures a horrific experience, so as to justify her killing of Lowenthal. After this point, Emma is forced to live in two realities. One where she and she alone knows the truth of everything and the other is the one that she told the world. Everyone around her remains ignorant of her deep sorrow, agony, and sense of shame. Not only are they ignorant of her shame, but they also remain ignorant of what Lowenthal had done. Lowenthal, even though his name was destroyed by her accusation, did not endure any shame himself. Emma, however, must continue to live with the shame of her father’s “guilt,” his suicide, and her own shame.

Ignorance is very powerful. It can affect every aspect of our lives, our choices and the words we speak. The truth can change everything. Borges seems to be making the point that people often prefer to remain ignorant. Being ignorant can often be easier. In our day and age, education seems to be such an important thing. We talk about it and make policies regarding it all the time, but too often fail to actually do it. Borges shows a rather exaggerated, view of what can happen when we choose to remain ignorant. People and their lives were/are destroyed because of ignorance.

“What you don’t know won’t kill you.” But will it kill you to know? “Ignorance is bliss.” Or does it just make you look like a fool? So, go out, read Borges’ and be changed. Educate yourself and learn as much as you can.

Living in a Box of Limitations

Judgment is a rather harsh word, however we all practice it every day of our lives, whether we want to admit to it or not. When we walk into a room of people there are immediate judgments passed. Judgment is passed on the room, the décor or lack of it. Upon first meeting we assume things about people based on their appearance; their clothing or “sense of style,” shoes, hairstyle, cleanliness, how attractive they are or not, etc... We decide if the person is “cool” or “our type of person.” If our assumptions are positive we may sit near them or speak to them, if negative we may avoid them. However, in the end it may turn out that the person who was not “cool” is actually someone we would enjoy having a conversation with and the person we deemed “cool” is a drone.

In the two stories we read by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, he very pointedly makes fun of this aspect of human nature. In “The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World” the people are so obsessed with this corpse that their conceptions of reality are thrown out the window, so to speak. At first it is simply the women who are overtaken by this idea they have created in their own heads. The men are annoyed with them and all the trouble they are causing, however, they were quickly drawn into this false sense of reality. “...the women kept piling on their junk relics, running back and forth, stumbling, while they released in sighs what they did not in tears, so that the men finally exploded with since when has there ever been such a fuss over a drifting corpse, a drowned nobody, a piece of cold Wednesday meat. One of the women, mortified by so much lack of care, then removed the handkerchief from the dead man’s face and the men were left breathless too. He was Esteban. It was not necessary to repeat it for them to recognize him... There was so much truth in his manner that even the most mistrustful men, the ones who felt the bitterness of endless nights at sea fearing that their women would tire of dreaming about them and begin to dream of drowned men...” A dead man is washed upon shore, he is different than most the men in the village, and within a short time he becomes an invasion into their fantasies. A whole life is created for this “piece of cold Wednesday meat.”

Marquez mocks the fact that we can take one tiny insignificant thing and blow it up into something so huge and ridiculous and completely unrealistic. Having a vivid imagination is not a bad thing. However, when it becomes a fantasy world that we live in, issues begin to arise. Our view of what actually is reality becomes more and more blurred until we live our daily lives as if this fantasy world we’ve created is real. There are many reasons people do this, some do it for “legitimate” reasons. A child who lives in constant fear and horrible abuse may allow themselves to create a fantasy world where they are loved and free from harm, this fantasy world may give them the ability to survive from one day to the next. But others do it because they no longer like the reality they live in, so they create something else, something more interesting or exciting, or simply to just run away.

Marriage is an institution that should be taken very seriously. It should not be entered into carelessly or thoughtlessly. Unfortunately today people want what they want and they want it now. Marriage is easily entered into and exited. The idea of marriage or getting married is so romanticized and idealized, but the reality of it is rarely addressed. Prince Charming and Cinderella are not real. They are fantasies that we create in our minds, fantasies that will never come to life. When I was younger, I remember a girl I knew had made this list of things she wanted in the guy she married someday. After she showed it to me, she asked me what mine was. I was baffled. We were 12 maybe 13. How could she know all of that??? We were still kids. Was there something wrong with me, that I didn't know all of that? Sadly, real life never works out quite the way we picture it in our fantasies.

In the second story, “A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings,” the people are horrified, mystified, and captivated by this strange creature that came to be in their lives. They caged it up, threw food or more like trash to it, they poked it, laughed at it, and paid money to see it, but refused to believe it to be an angel. Why couldn’t this creature have been an angel? Well, “he did not understand the language of God or know how to greet His ministers... he was too much human: he had an unbearable smell of the outdoors, the back side of his wings was strewn with parasites and his main feathers had been mistreated by terrestrial winds...” But most importantly this creature could not be an angel because “nothing about him measured up to the proud dignity of angels.” Who is to say what an angel looks like? Who is to say what the “language of God” is? Who is to say how one is to greet their ministers? The people had allowed themselves to be put into a box of limitations. They lived their lives and made their assumptions based on what someone else told them.

People are constantly creating these “boxes of limitations.” We stereotype everything. Woman? Well, they love chocolate, shopping, shoes, clothes, etc... and hate dirt or bugs or being outside. Men? They love being outside and doing “manly” things, playing sports, working on cars, etc... Me? Upon first glance, I may seem to be very girlie and "fragile," for lack of a better word. I have fancy handwriting and truly do enjoy cooking. However, appearances can be quite deceiving. I strongly dislike, not hate, just strongly dislike, chocolate. I passionately hate shopping. I only have as many shoes as are absolutely necessary; sneakers, chucks, and flip flops can be worn with everything, right?! Cloths oh shoot me! Why do I need 700 shirts and 300 pairs of jeans? (small exaggeration) If I were given the option I would prefer to go outside and run around in the woods, climbing over logs and wading through creeks or go hiking. Mud and bugs? They don’t bother me. Is this typical? Who cares, forcing ourselves to live inside a box of limitations keeps us from seeing what is really around us. Not only does it limit our vision, but it stunts our growth as individual human beings and we force ourselves to live by someone else’s standard of life.